


i dreamt that i was perched atop a throne of human skulls

by pardon_my_french



Category: Hotdaga
Genre: Alcohol, Also yes, Alternate Universe - Human, Autoclave, Based on a TMG Song, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Memory Magic, Past Relationship(s), Poly Fixins - Freeform, Post-Break Up, also braccoon is there, and he and gene have a talk, because of pam, steven has good band memories, steven works at a bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25256893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pardon_my_french/pseuds/pardon_my_french
Summary: Steven was finally left alone. Face in his hands, leaning on the counter, as he tried to work through a sudden wave of sadness. Sadness that he almost wished was anger.He could break a bottle if he wanted.He could go to bed and not acknowledge any problems until morning. No sticky countertops until morning, no mess until morning, no thoughts until morning. As tempting as it was, it was… practically impossible for him, wasn’t it? To stop thinking and relax. He hadn’t done it since he’d had his friends near.
Relationships: Gene the French Fry/Steven Rootbeer/Melba Dill (implied)
Kudos: 5





	i dreamt that i was perched atop a throne of human skulls

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A French Fry Walks Into A Bar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412739) by [HotdagaHermit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotdagaHermit/pseuds/HotdagaHermit). 



> It's been a while. This is... stupidly unoriginal, but I had some ideas. 
> 
> Also, regarding the inspiration: They're super similar fics and I wanted to mention HotdagaHermit's because it's excellent and I don't want it to seem like I'm the only person who's done something like this.

Steven was staring down at the glass in his hand, trying not to think too hard about what was happening around him. Noise all around him, people talking and laughing. He loved his job, sure, but he missed a lot of things from before now. Before he was alone, with his band, surrounded by the people he loved. 

He’d liked that part the most. Gene and Melba being by his side almost constantly, doing the things they loved together, never apart. And maybe that had been their downfall, but it had given him some of the best memories he’d ever made. 

That had been what it was all about, wasn’t it? Being with each other? Songs written to one another, at least one, in every single album. Things that needed to be said to one another that were impossible to say face-to-face. Of course, they had other things too, but those had always meant so much more, even if they didn’t always top the charts. That wasn’t the intention. 

The cup he was holding wasn’t getting any cleaner. 

Did that matter though? When he looked up, there were only a few more people left. Closing was happening soon, and he would be left alone. Free to think about his old friends as much as he liked. Unbothered. 

An hour passed, feeling like minutes, and Steven was finally left alone. Face in his hands, leaning on the counter, as he tried to work through a sudden wave of sadness. Sadness that he almost wished was anger. 

He could break a bottle if he wanted. 

He could go to bed and not acknowledge any problems until morning. No sticky countertops until morning, no mess until morning, no thoughts until morning. As tempting as it was, it was… practically impossible for him, wasn’t it? To stop thinking and relax. He hadn’t done it since he’d had his friends near. 

_ The smell of sweat, the feeling of a heart beating out of a chest, the heat of lights blinding him as he tries to remember the right things to play. Fingers forming chords and plucking strings like he was born for it. No one was breathing, but that was alright. Something else, something more than human was keeping them alive right then.  _

_ Steven looked back at Melba, bouncing to the beat she set.  _

_ He could’ve sworn she saw him too. _

_ For a moment, music was nothing but a deep, pulsating feeling in his bones. Lights weren’t even a distraction. It was just her. Watching the way she moved, closed her eyes as she got into the next verse.  _

_ That was the first time Steven Rootbeer had ever stumbled while playing live.  _

_ Hands holding his face, making him look up. See just how vast an audience could really be. Gene’s hands sliding down, touching his neck, resting on his shoulders. The kind of thing that made his heart beat so fast it hurt.  _

_ “We made it,” Gene mumbled, “we actually made it. Can you believe?” _

_ Steven took a moment to collect his thoughts. “No.”  _

_ He couldn’t, not really. The whole thing felt like a dream. Hell, it looked like a dream. Seats in the back becoming nothing but static.  _

_ If he looked down, he wouldn’t recognize the sight of his own hands.  _

_ And that was okay. _

Steven looked up from his hands, flipping a wrist to look at his watch. 3:46 AM. 

He should really get going, clean something, make food, just go to bed, but something kept him rooted to the spot. A sneaking suspicion that something would happen. Someone would come in. 

He didn’t know why. Not really.

A raccoon ran in front of the door, staring inside for a moment, then scampering off to do whatever raccoons must do in the nighttime. 

His eyes were weird.

An hour had passed when Steven finally went to go climb to the stairs, freezing when he heard the doorbell ring. Someone had come inside.

“We’re closed.”

“Oh, don’t worry, partner. I’m not lookin’ for much. Just sasparilla and a few words with an old pal.” 

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Turning around on the stairs, hand still on the railing, just in case, Steven took in the sight of his former bandmate for the first time in years.

“Well… we’re out of sasparilla, not sure about the other stuff.”

They sat down to drink. Steven hurriedly wiping down a part of the counter so nothing would get messy, staring at Gene as he talked about nothing and everything. Slowly getting friendlier and friendlier as the early morning dragged on.

“What brought you out here after the breakup, anyway?” 

He startled, pushing himself up a little, hand pressing on the counter, glass halfway to his mouth. “Pardon?”

“I mean,” Gene waved his hands a little, “to Texas. Funny place to start a bar, don’t you think?.”

“After we broke up, I didn’t exactly have many places to go. This was where I grew up, you know that. Never finished nursing school either, didn’t quite like the thought of going back.” Steven sighed, eyes trailing over Gene’s face. “You were the thing that was keeping my life together, you and Melba. Didn’t want to risk bumping into you over and over while we were still healing. Hell, I  _ am _ still healing.”

Another pause, longer this time. 

“I came here because I--” 

_ Because I’m helpless when it comes to you two. Because if I kept seeing you, I would have begged you to stay with me.  _

“--it’s quiet here. I needed the change.”

That night, when Steven fell asleep on a train for the first time in years, he dreamt about something he wasn’t intimately familiar with.

_ The ocean, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Seagulls landed around him, making as much noise as they could, gathering stones. The wind blew through his hair, the moon painted the land around him in soft light.  _

_ Steven sat in the middle, hands digging into the sand. Goosebumps going up his arms at the chill. If he dug deep enough, he would find bones long forgotten, smooth and soft from a lifetime of being rubbed against the small rocks.  _

_ Maybe he would find more skulls, enough to build a chair, perhaps a house. A crown made of ribs. Yes… _

_ The night would stay for as long as he wanted. The seagulls would stay there too. No emotions needed here, no people to protect. No one to call home but himself. It was tempting. So, so tempting.  _

_ The same raccoon from earlier was behind him, looming, waiting.  _

Sunlight hit his eyes.

Steven would wake up for the very last time in just a few weeks’ time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! - French


End file.
